A Queen Must Have Her Knights
by Mango Schmango
Summary: REPOSTEDIn a court of cut throat ambition and betrayal, the only constant presence in Anne's life was her brother George. Their bond could only be severed by death. When all else crumbled, she knew George would be there. Not incest. Please read and review


**A Queen Must Have Her Knights**

**Disclaimer: no infringement intended. I am just showing my appreciation for The Tudors. **

"Where are you, George and Anne?" a young Mary Boleyn called out across the wide, lush lawns of the Boleyn family dwelling at Hever. "You know that I can never find either of you. How come it is always I who has to be the seeker?"

No answer came from either of her elusive siblings. The only sound was the breeze caressing the leafy trees and the ripples of the elaborate fountain. The sun shone down on Mary's hair, making it appear like golden corn.

"This is not amusing anymore!" she said loudly.

Still no response.

"George?"

Silence.

"Anne?"

Silence.

In an uncharacteristic display of temper, Mary stomped her foot on the thick grass and pouted. "Well I'm not going to play this silly game anymore, so the two of you can hide out here until you roast for all I care!"

And with that, she stormed off back to the castle to seek comfort from her nursemaid Simonette, who would hug her and give her some sweetmeats as a treat. So engrossed with the thought of the prospective sweetmeats, Mary did not notice her errant siblings nearly shaking from silent laughter in the high glass paned window of the west wing of Hever castle.

Anne giggled, her dark eyes shining in amusement. "Mary falls for our trick every time. To be honest, it is getting a little tiresome."

George grinned. "I still find it amusing to watch Mary work herself into a fluster searching for us high and low in the grounds while us two are lounging around and laughing at her."

"I would have worked it out by now, if it had been you and Mary playing that joke on me."

"But you know Mary does not have your logic," George replied, tweaking her ear.

"You're just an unrepentant flatterer!" retorted Anne, though amusement coloured her voice.

"Sweetmeat?" drawled George, handing her the silver platter.

"Won't Mary be disappointed if she misses out on these sweetmeats?"

"Probably."

Anne's eyes gleamed. "Oh well. Mary can afford to lose a bit of flesh around her middle, for she is getting far too plump for my liking."

George guffawed but did not argue with his sister. "More for us, then."

"Indeed."

* * *

Jane Parker, now Lady Jane Rochford, did not like Queen Anne Boleyn. In fact she despised her for a myriad of reasons. It was not just because Anne had lured the King away from his true and lawful wife, the gracious Queen Katherine. Nor was it the fact that Anne had bewitched almost all the men at court, like Norris, Weston, Brereton, Wyatt and Smeaton, who all worshipped her. Nor did Jane singularly loathe Anne for creating daring new fashions that all the ladies at court brazenly imitated. What made Jane want to reach out and slap Anne hard across the face was the fact that Anne monopolised all George's attention.

George, now Earl Rochford, spent precious little time with his wife, Jane. Instead, he seemed to pass most hours of the day in the company of his equally witty and vivacious sister, Anne, and their small group that consisted of the poetic Wyatt, the chivalric Norris, the rakish Weston, the spirited Brereton and the musical Smeaton.

Jane could only glower in the corner at the unfair situation that had been enforced upon her. She jealously watched the damnable Queen Anne, resplendent in royal purple and gold cloth, gracefully sitting on the window ledge in her Privy Chamber that overlooked the beautiful gardens of Hampton Court with everyone's attention fixed on her.

Hot talons of envy slowly clawed their way up through Jane's stomach as she saw George slide his hand into his sister's and whisper something in her ear that made Anne laugh and turn her strikingly dark eyes in Jane's direction. Jane's throat constricted tightly when she detected the matching mocking glints in the eyes of the Boleyn siblings.

Jane carelessly placed her embroidery that she had only been haphazardly concentrating on in Madge Shelton's hands and with as much grace as she could muster, made her way to the intimate circle by the window seat.

Wyatt was chewing on the tip of his quill as he scrutinized the piece of parchment in front of him. "…my labor that thou and I shall waste/And end that I have now begun/For when this song is sung and past/My lute, be still, for I have done…" he looked up from the poem he was composing. "I'm not certain about this poem. What do you think, your Majesty?"

"As per usual, Master Wyatt, your verses are of impeccable quality, but I do think it is rather a grim sort of poem. Can you not write a brighter one?"

Wyatt swooned dramatically, thrusting his parchment dramatically over his heart. "Perhaps I can, most gracious Madame, if I can dedicate it to you. For if you are the patroness of this poem, then there is no chance that this poem can be dour because your radiant presence will alight these words like a beacon in the darkness."

Anne smiled with evident satisfaction and held out her hand to Wyatt to kiss. "Your words are a tonic to a Queen's spirits."

"Which is why he is a poet," reminded George, rolling his eyes, "So he can bewitch unsuspecting beauties and amass great fortune."

Anne turned to face her brother. "So am I a beauty, my dearest brother?"

George took his sister's hand and encased it in both his hands as if Anne's hand were a precious jewel. "Yes you are, my most glorious sister, the Queen. Indeed, the huntress, Artemis, and her sister goddess, Aphrodite, pale in comparison to you—as do all other women."

Anne's face softened while Jane's stomach churned. George had never said anything tender like that to Jane in their whole married life, yet he continually bathed his sister with such compliments.

"What would I do without you, dearest George?"

Wyatt good-naturedly clapped George on the back. "I think you could do a lot better than this rogue, your Majesty."

"You are forward with your tongue, Master Wyatt."

"Yet you admire my tongue, do you not?" Wyatt daringly responded with quick-fire wit.

"Do not utter such grossly indecent things to her Majesty," reproached Norris.

"Not all of us can be so pure like you, my dear friend," Wyatt said. "You are like a lovelorn Lancelot standing guard over our gracious Queen."

Norris flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh leave my lord Norris be. All Queens need a knight and my lord Norris is indeed a most gentle and faithful knight that ever a queen could ask for."

Norris inclined his head in acceptance of Anne's compliment.

"I was merely jesting, my lord," apologised Wyatt, with obvious sincerity. "I did mean no real offence."

Norris shook his head. "Think no more of it. It is already long forgiven and forgotten."

Jane coughed loudly to announce her presence and performed an obsequious curtsey to Anne. "Your Majesty," she said stiffly.

"And here is my most beloved wife," George proclaimed with great pomp. "I had quite forgotten you were even here."

Wyatt ducked his head to hide a grin. Norris, ever considerate, arose from his stool and offered it to Jane who accepted it with bad grace.

"Play us the lute, Mark!" Weston cried. "That piece you played last night at the masque was your best one yet."

Mark got up with his lute and turned to Anne for assent. "If it pleases your Majesty."

"Enchant us with your music, Mark," Anne replied, imperiously gesturing with her hand that he begin.

Mark bowed and then began playing his lute. A jaunty tune flowed like honey from the lute and Weston tapped his foot in time to the music.

Fury bridled in Jane as the small circle continued on as if she did not even join their group.

"What do you think of Mistress Seymour who's recently come to court?" Brereton drawled, idly tossing a coin in his hand.

"Ugly. She has a squat jaw and that whey-face of hers irritates me," Anne said bluntly.

Jane leaned forward. "I've heard that the King shows great favour to Mistress Seymour."

Anne and George's heads snapped simultaneously in Jane's direction. "Pardon?"

"He has given Mistress Seymour's father some new land and the Imperial Ambassador Chapuys has often been seen in the company of the Seymours. If you ask me, I'd not be surprised if the King has already bed her."

"Thanks be to God that no one does ask you anything, Jane," said Anne cuttingly. "What you have just said is malicious falsehoods."

"How dare you bring up that matter in front of everyone. Are you going out of your way to find ways of humiliating and undermining the queen?" George stated in a low voice, his eyes hard.

"I thought I was being helpful!"

"I doubt any degree of selflessness was involved in your conduct," George retorted.

"Leave us!" ordered Anne to Jane.

"But—"

"Do not argue with me. Go join Madge and the other ladies in embroidering."

Jane abruptly rose and gave a sharp curtsey. "Yes, your Majesty," she submitted through clenched teeth.

As she retreated back to Madge and the other ladies with hot tears of rage pricking her eyes, she heard George soothing Anne: "Do not let my silly wife worry you. Just concentrate on charming the King and keeping in favour with him. That little curd Seymour is nothing compared to you…"

Jane clenched her fists in the folds of her skirts. One day she was going to show them that she was better than any of them and when that day came, oh, Jane was planning to savour it…by God, she would crow over them all and make them regret every sharp or mocking word they ever said to her…

* * *

Madge Shelton was dividing different colours of silks into baskets when George came striding into the outer entrance to the Queen's chambers. She immediately curtsied to him. "My lord," she greeted him.

George gave her a disinterested nod. "I must see her Majesty."

"She is in the middle of her toilette. You will have to wait, my lord."

George let out a growl of frustration and he pushed open the door to Anne's bedroom chamber.

"My lord Rochford!" Madge cried, running after him.

"What ails you, brother?" Anne asked archly, dressed only in a shift. She did not appear unruffled at her brother's abrupt intrusion into her bedchambers while she was near naked.

Margaret Wyatt gasped. "My lord Rochford! You should not see the Queen in this state of undress!"

Anne dismissively waved her hand at her. "Hush, Margaret!"

"Your Majesty, I must speak with you," George asserted, his voice low with barely restrained urgency.

"Leave us, ladies," commanded Anne.

"But your Majesty…to be alone with your brother in such a state of dress is unseemly and—"

"Peace, Madge! I hardly think that my virtue is under threat from my own brother. I will not ask you again—leave us _now_."

Madge, Margaret and Mary curtsied and retreated from the bedchamber, closing the door behind them.

Anne slipped on a blood red robe. "What was so urgent that you had to charge into my chambers like you were being pursued by a band of Scots marauders?"

George sank wearily onto her bed. "This is no time to jest, sister."

"What else is there to do? Weep? Throw myself off the battlements?" Anne cuttingly responded.

"Don't you direct your sharp tongue at me, sister of mine!" George snapped. "This is grave news I bear."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense."

"Father told me that the King has been sending Mistress Seymour pretty little trinkets. She has _piously_ refused all his gifts, except for that locket which you—"

"Ripped off her neck."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I was not going to let that little pallid creature dig her harpy claws into the King."

"I don't think she was the one acting like the harpy."

"Are you questioning my conduct?" she challenged.

"Yes. You are the _Queen_, Anne. Start acting like one. Behave like Katherine did—with a cool and regal composure."

"And look where it got her!"

"By the blood of Christ, Anne! You are not going to enchant the King again by ripping off lockets and stamping your feet like a petulant fishwife!"

Anne's eyes flashed. "How dare you compare me to a low born station such as that!"

"I do dare—someone has to! We are on shifting sand, Anne, and if we do not take care, we will sink." George gave a short, humourless laugh. "By God. You have set a fashion for other ambitious ladies to follow—acting demure and chaste by insisting that you will not yield up your maidenhead unless the King makes you his wife, thus inflaming his lust and finally compelling him to dethrone his rightful wife in order to satiate his carnal desires."

"If I recall rightly, I was not acting alone. You, father and our uncle Norfolk were right behind the scenes, coaching me."

"We hardly needed to teach you whore's tricks, Anne."

Anne slapped him resoundingly hard across the face.

The two stared at each other in shock. George gingerly lifted a hand to his raw left cheek. Anne's chest heaved and her frame shuddered violently with suppressed emotion that longed to bubble up and spill over like hot oil onto the stone floors.

"Anna Maria, please forgive me," pleaded George, holding out his hands entreatingly.

Anne clutched at her chest as if someone had thrust a dagger deep in her heart and twisted it in and she began to speak in a ragged voice: "I hear everyone in this damned court whispering behind their hands that I am the Great Whore. I hear the ignorant rabble of England jeer that I am the Great Concubine. I hear the Papal court condemn me as an English Jezebel or Messalina—a foul witch who has ensnared the King into her web of foul and perverted lusts. I can endure all of them, but to think that _you_, my own _brother_, who has benefited from my rise, call me a cheap tavern slut is unendurable."

"I do not think that of you at all. Do you comprehend me? I see you as a beautiful, indomitable Queen with a formidable wit and grace. Yes, you have a temper that could rival the thunder bolts of Jupiter in one of his great rages, but you are no lady of the night."

Anne took deep, shaky breaths to in an attempt to salvage her breaking composure.

"Come here, Anna Maria," George softly urged her, holding out his arms.

Anne for once did not argue and she went to her brother's embrace. "I am so weary of this game, George."

"I know," he soothed her.

"I'm so weary."

"I know."

Whilst George and Anne were closeted in her chambers, Anne's ladies-in-waiting were indulging in hushed speculations.

"What is the Queen talking about with her brother?" Madge whispered.

Margaret gave Madge a disapproving look. "Concentrate on dividing up those silks and not idle speculation. The Queen will be most displeased if you do not complete the task."

Jane Rochford's face was sour. "I think it is unseemly that the Queen should receive my husband in her near nakedness. She is behaving as if he is her lover."

"Jane!" Mary Wyatt exclaimed. "That is a malicious falsehood! Do not repeat that foul statement again!"

Madge giggled nervously. "It is odd, Margaret. I would never receive my brother in naught but my shift, even if I were the Queen of England!"

"It is fortunate for England that you are not the Queen, Madge," Margaret said drily. "You would spend the contents of the Privy Purse on Venetian lace and French silk, leaving the populace to fend for themselves."

Madge flushed.

A page gowned in the Tudor livery of green and white deftly slipped into the Presence Chamber and silently handed Margaret a slip of paper and discretely murmured something in her ear. Margaret gave a coin to the page for his services and quickly scanned the note.

"Jane, please inform Her Majesty that the King expects her to be in attendance for the French ambassador tomorrow morning," Margaret continued, calmly turning the page of the Bible.

Jane swept to the entrance of the Queen's chamber and knocked smartly once.

"Enter!" Anne called.

Jane walked into the room and her eyes gleamed with perverse curiosity at the sight in front of her. Her husband and the Queen were lying on the State Bed together. Anne's head resting on her brother's chest and he was stroking her hair.

"What do you want, Jane?" Anne waspishly asked, not moving away from George.

"You are to be in attendance on the French ambassador tomorrow morning with His Majesty."

"Is that all?" Anne questioned in a bored tone.

Jane bristled at the Boleyn siblings' inattention to her. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good. You can aid Madge in sorting out those silks."

Jane swallowed the bile rising in her throat. "My lord husband, will you be joining me in our chambers tonight? I have had not the pleasure of your company for this past fortnight."

George yawned. "I can do without the pleasure of your company, my dear wife. I will be staying in my own apartments tonight."

"What? I'm surprised that you are not sharing your sister's bed tonight, husband. I know that you prefer the bed of your sister more than that of your true lawful wife!" spat Jane.

George's face paled at the insult and he shot up into a sitting position. "That is vile and slanderous. A mere servant would have had his tongue slit for the poisonous slight. To be honest, I prefer the company of the farm animals more than your delightful person."

Anne placed a hand on her brother's forearm and she turned her glittering, hard gaze that could have cowered a raging Cyclops on Jane. "Remove your horrid presence from my sight before I have you committed to the Tower!"

With hot tears of rage in her eyes, Jane complied and closed the door behind her with more force than necessary.

Once Jane had departed, George gave a barking laugh. "That was brilliant, Anne—'Remove your horrid presence from my sight before I have you committed to the Tower'—that was pure poetry."

Anne had a pensive look on her face and did not appear to share George's mirth. "Did you see the expression in her eyes when she entered my apartments? She made me feel as if we were committing an unclean act—something dirty."

"I would not worry about my shrewish wife. Jane's mind is narrow and she distorts everything. Do you wonder that I seek the bed of other court beauties and avoid her at all costs? She is intolerable."

"Perhaps you should try to be kinder to her, George. She could do you real danger, for a vengeful wife is the greatest curse a man could have."

George snorted. "I doubt she can do me harm. I wish that you could have her committed to the Tower for it would make my life easier."

Anne lightly pinched her brother's arm. "You are incorrigible."

* * *

Mary Boleyn (now Mary _Stafford_ after her new husband, William) regarded her two siblings with anxious eyes. It seemed that George and Anne had abandoned all caution and threw themselves into plans for masques, poetry and jousting tournaments with reckless abandonment. It was as if her two siblings had decided that they would embrace danger like they would a caress from a lover.

"Play a more upbeat tune, Mark!" called out Anne gaily, her dark eyes flashing. "I want to dance!"

Mark immediately acquiesced, his gaze one of worshipful adoration.

George and Anne took their place at the head of the line while Wyatt, Norris, Weston and Brereton followed suit. Anne threw her head back, displaying her milky white swan neck and her chestnut hair that flowed loosely under her French hood, as she twirled like a frenetic butterfly from her brother, to Wyatt, Norris, Weston and Brereton. Mark increased the pace of his lute and Anne laughed wildly as George lifted her by the hips into the air. Weston and Brereton clapped their hands as George released his sister. Anne then, like a glorious and beautiful tempest, imperiously commanded that the courtiers join hands to form a circle.

Mary could sense the frantic and desperate gaiety that emanated from the tight circle as they spun around like a water wheel. Their bright coloured clothing became blurs as they moved around faster. Weston let out an ungentlemanly 'whoop' as Anne broke free of the circle like a cog that had broken away from a carriage wheel and twirled with abandonment into the middle of the circle. The courtiers formed rank and continued to circle around her with increasing fervour and spirit.

Anne thrust her hands into the hair, her head dress falling off her head and onto the floor as her eyes closed. To Mary's eyes, Anne was a Fury with her heavy, extravagant skirts flowing out around her in a swirl of scarlet and gold and her luxurious hair a wild mahogany halo.

"Viva Anna Regina!" recklessly exclaimed George.

Mary's throat choked with apprehension. Madge Shelton sat beside her with dumb eyes whilst Jane Rochford had an odd gleam in her eye, like she was a hunter regarding her prey. Margaret and Mary Wyatt, Wyatt's sisters and Anne's closest and most faithful friends, had inscrutable faces.

"The Queen is being very free with her favours," whispered Jane Rochford nastily, jealousy burning plainly in her eyes.

"She is committing no indecent crime," Mary carefully replied.

Jane snorted. "Look at the indecent proximity she is to those men. If the King should come in…"

Mary swallowed and pretended as if her embroidery was the most fascinating thing in the world. She longed to yank George and Anne from the den of wolves and castigate them sharply for their alarming flippancy and recklessness but she was too weak. She knew her siblings would have shrug her warnings off with those gratingly smug and superior looks as if they were in the possession of some secret that Mary was not privy to.

Margaret Wyatt leaned over to the two women, her face filled with a passionate loyalty for Anne. "I doubt the King will make a visit. He spends all his time with that insipid Seymour girl. The only loyal courtiers are those you see dancing with Her Majesty. The Boleyns are the setting sun and the Seymours are the dazzling new dawn that everyone, even Cromwell, are now flocking to in order to soak up the new light. Begrudge not Her Majesty for seeking a restorative tonic to her ailing spirits."

"Even if the tonic the Queen is gorging on is poisonous?" Jane asked pointedly.

Margaret's face became suffused with tension that etched itself into every crevice of her features as she turned away from Mary Stafford and Jane Rochford, her hands clasped tightly together.

* * *

King Henry VIII cast a sideways look upon his wife, caught between an uncontrollable lust and a burning hate. He was not sure which was the more predominant feeling in his body. His meaty hand gripped a jeweled goblet as he observed George Boleyn saunter up to the royal canopy and bow to him. The King's eyes narrowed at George's swagger and his grip on the goblet intensified when he saw his wife smile warmly at her brother.

When George came before Anne, he sank to one knee like a knight from the chivalrous age of Arthur and Lancelot. He raised his right hand over his heart and bowed his head.

"Rise, my Lord Rochford. You need not be a floor decoration. I think you would be more useful as an ornament by my elbow" Anne stated, holding her slim, bejeweled hand for her brother to clasp.

"I'm at your command, Glorianna," George responded, his eyes gleaming as he stood back on his feet again.

Anne smirked and Henry could not work out if George was mocking him or not, when George performed a rather perfunctory bow to him. Henry did not like the way Anne's lips formed a little bow—the trademark look that Henry had seen countless times in the past that had always driven him half-mad with lust when Anne had been trying to suppress a laugh—as George's eyes met hers.

Henry sought but failed to decipher the unspoken dialogue that flew between the two siblings. All he knew was that he was excluded from whatever the Boleyns were pondering.

As he watched George lean casually by Anne and whisper something in her ear, Henry realised that he was sick of the Boleyns. He was bored of their witty plays, masques and poetry. He was weary of trying to ascertain if Anne thought that his poetry and music was inferior to those of her dratted brother and Wyatt. He was tired of Anne's tantrums and political diatribes that he had no interest in hearing. He could no longer stomach the naked ambition of Thomas Boleyn, Earl of Wiltshire. He now longed for domestic felicity and an image of the meek, subservient Jane Seymour reading the Bible and sewing came to his mind

A small smile graced his face and he licked his lips.

* * *

Anne flew to her Privy Chamber door when she heard it knock and flung the door open.

"What has happened?" George asked urgently, his eyes intense.

Anne flung her arms around his neck and he immediately hugged her close. "What has happened?" he repeated, his voice muffled by her hair.

"Oh George," whispered Anne, tears forming in her eyes.

George held her face in his hands. "Are you ill? Is it the King?"

Anne shook her head. "I am losing everything…that Seymour slut has entranced the king and has Cromwell and Suffolk as her allies. The King blames me for the miscarriages and he no longer seeks my bed."

"It's not over yet, Anna-Maria. You can still have a son, you still have your beauty and youth and wit. You still have the power to reel the King back in. That curdled milk sop is weak and will expire long before we will."

"I don't feel as confident as you, my beloved brother. The King is repulsed by me and last night, he called me a witch and said that I caused the downfalls and deaths of Wolsey, More, Fisher and Katherine."

"Do not listen to him. He is using you as a scapegoat for his own failings. Where is your mettle, Anna Regina? Where is your wit and vitality? This is not like you to give up the battle so easily. Get on your armour and charge back into the fray again!"

Anne gave a choked sound that sounded as if it was halfway between a laugh and a sob. "You are my only constant, George. Everyone else is deserting me like they would a sinking ship."

George crushed her to his chest and Anne gripped onto him hard, as if he was a bulwark that she could cling to as all else crumbled away. "Listen to me, Anne. You cannot afford to give up now. You must be strong for yourself, for your daughter and for all those who love and support you. If you, the anchor of all our fortunes, fall, so will the rest of us who rely upon you to stay afloat. Think of what will happen to Elizabeth if you are cast aside. She will suffer the same fate as the Princess Mary: degradation and humiliation."

Anne took a deep, shuddering breath. "You are right. I am being weak."

George smiled softly and cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently rubbing her tears away. "No not weak, just human."

"I'm not going to allow that Seymour slut take away what I've laboured so hard to build. Tomorrow everyone will feel the full force of the Boleyn will."

"Now that sounds more like my Anne of old."

Anne's eyes gleamed and George kissed her forehead.

"Thank-you, George," she whispered.

"Anytime, my dearest sister. As always, I am your constant and unchanging brother."

"For which I am eternally grateful for," Anne quietly responded as George tucked her head under his chin.

* * *

Anne stared unmoving at the stonewall of her cell in the Tower. Tomorrow she would die at the orders of the King. She was not afraid. Only resigned. The madness that had briefly seized hold of her had subsided and now a detached serenity coloured her bearing.

She was leaving Elizabeth at the mercy of the King. Archbishop Cranmer had promised her that he would watch over the child but Anne knew that Cranmer's protection could only extend so far. Her daughter was now a bastard. If Henry set his mind on a course of action, Cranmer would not be able to dissuade him for Henry now knew no bounds to his power. The men who had been able to restrain him—More and Wolsey—were long gone. Henry was an ever-changing and wrathful god who would smite anyone who stood in his way.

Anne longed for death now. She had made her peace with her fate and she planned to deliver a performance for the crowd that would be engrained on everyone's minds for years to come. She was going to end her life in a superb display of cool composure and funereal elegance. She would not shiver and cower but instead submit her head to the French swordsman with a joyful heart.

She would journey to the same destination where her dear and most beloved brother was waiting for her. Those four other men who also lost their lives—Norris, Weston, Brereton and Smeaton—would be with him in Paradise. A small smile tinged her lips as she thought of the welcome she would receive. In Paradise, she would dance, eat and sing with her brother and the four other innocents.

The very thought that she and George had had an incestuous relationship was laughable if the situation had not been so deadly. She and George were close and shared everything—but why was that such a crime? Nothing sordid or ungodly ever passed between them. The only love that existed between them was that of a pure, sibling love. She and George had been alike in intellect, charisma, wit and ambition, unlike their sister Mary who had been a simple, pleasure-loving creature with not one ambitious bone in her body. But George's nosy, jealous and neglected wife distorted that bond between George and Anne into one of perversion—lovers, Jane claimed. That George's constancy and fidelity was grossly distorted never failed to distress Anne. That her brother had to die through her made Anne feel ill.

Anne shook her head. It would do no good to upset herself now thinking back on the past. Jane would eventually receive her judgment in the end for her lies at the hands of her Maker. It was not for Anne to waste her time thinking on such offal.

Anne took a deep breath.

Tomorrow she would die.

She took another breath.

She closed her eyes and briefly, she could picture a grinning George in a sun-drenched glade, gesturing for her to join him. Beside him were Norris, Weston and Brereton who bowed to her. Smeaton appeared with his lute and was playing a bright melody. Other people that she did not know danced by in loose and flowing white gowns with crowns of jasmine, marigolds, daisies, roses and ivy. George lithely removed one of the floral crowns and held it out to Anne.

_Not yet, my dearest brother. Not yet_, Anne whispered. _I'll be there soon. Wait for me. _

George nodded and then Anne opened her eyes, the vision gone.

Paradise was waiting for her.

**The end. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please review and tell me what you think!**


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